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I'm happy
without you,
is not a fact,
Would achieve a lot
but
be always lacked.
ns Mar 2015
Father, father, please come back.
Cradle me in your arms, mend my heart that cracked
Wipe my tears with your strong hands
Keep my soul from being ******

Father, father, please come back
Fill up my heart with love that lacked
Hold my hand and guide my way
This time, father, can you please stay?


Oh my daughter, please forgive me
I am afraid of what has become of me
I cannot stay with you for I am one of the ******
I have to protect you from becoming what I am

I cannot fill your heart with the love that lacked
For I am only an empty shell that cannot love back
I may not even be able to hold your hand
For I am scared that you will not understand



ns
"I wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch,
To wrap my arms around her and sleep.
Not ****, like in those movies.
Not even have ***.
Just sleep together in the most innocent sense of the phrase.
But I lacked the courage
and she had a boyfriend
and I was gawky
and she was gorgeous
and I was hopelessly boring
and she was endlessly fascinating.
So I walked back to my room
and collapsed on the bottom bunk,
Thinking that if people were rain,
I was drizzle and she was hurricane."
-Miles
from Looking for Alaska by John Green
Steve Page Jan 2018
I passed a small boy named Solomon Woods
deep in thought with a book
He licked a finger, turned a page
too engrossed to give me a look

I met a young lad named Solomon Woods
humming a gentle tune
He smiled and waved, shook my hand
and wished me a good afternoon

I danced with a friend named Solomon Woods
while he sang me one of his songs
What he lacked in skill he offset with zeal
and insisted I sang along

I sat with a man named Solomon Woods
glad of his still, gentle manner
His reliable smile and kind wise words
drowned out the usual clamour

I walked with a gent named Solomon Woods
glad of his confident stride
I knew for sure he faced the world
trusting God as his strength and guide

If you meet a man named Solomon Woods
he'll certainly stop for a while
If you have the time, he'll sing you a song
and leave you with a smile
Another song for Solomon. An anti-Solomon grundy.
Dead lover Feb 2016
I must admit as well as appreciate,
I have the best father, my good fate.

All along, I had been wrong,
I have been cranky, stupid and ignorant
Yet you were there to make me strong,
And make my incoherent thoughts coherent.

Sorry for my mistake that I did make,
I'll correct it all, For your kindness's sake...
I promise to improve exponentially,
I feel high potentially...
To connect with etiquette,
That I thought you lacked initially..

But you are my dad,
You were meant to win finally
But I promise I would change,
And win this game, eventually
Ashleigh Black Jan 2015
She wants to see the naked parts of your soul,
the places where nobody roams.
There must be something there
that keeps such a precious heart beating.

"Just let me in," she says
as her head rested on his chest
for she longed for quite some time
to know why he guarded his heart so.

Not a moment went by where she lacked hope
that one day this brown-eyed boy would let her in
all she needed was the patience,
the patience before he'd give in.
I have hope that one day will be our day. I just need to learn not to rush the fine moments in life.
She stood, amidst tutts, wore a mini skirt...
(From the first decade).  Took a
Step forward, pioneering the teenager
Long fair hair, parted mid section
Cascading over her cherry cupcakes
Remembering first impressions aren't always
Accurate, they still berated her without
Knowing her.  First appearances were all
They knew and could rely on...back then
Why would she wear a skirt so short if
Respectability meant anything, closed off
They too had been judged, time dulling
Their posture straight backed.  Space lacked
Room to be filled with meanderings of another
Era, balancing her book atop red curls and
Speckled egg skin.  Recalling the longing
Admiration of someone who dared to wear
Their inner choice on the outside
Carter Ginter May 2014
Sitting here trying to make small talk, I'm going insane, we're all insane.
Broken topics over chips and salsa, god its so bizarre, I don't understand how "normal" we all are.
I keep my mouth semi-full so I'm unable to speak, I can't stand myself, ****, why am I so weak?
Why does this bother me so? It's like no one even knows,
the truth,
be told it's a mess, I can't stand too much more of this, someone relieve me from this **** before it makes me sick..
All the underlying problems...drink to numb the pain but those same drinks taketh life away.
And I don't mean with death, for life still moves on, but it's broken into pieces and it's better off gone.
Cause one needs it to stay strong and the other knows that lifestyle is wrong:
Substances don't bring you happiness, they don't fix your pain, they ruin relationships and families all the same.
But we sat and we talked, topics in no particular range, and what hurts is seeing how things both have and haven't changed.
The connection is there, but the love has departed; neither hope nor intention to go back and restart it.
And now we're driving away and nothing is said, no mention of the insanity that hides in my head,
No acknowledgement to the tears I watch my own mom fight back..similar to the sick truth the whole situation lacked.
I don't like pretending that things are normal when they aren't. I had to go to my step moms house with my mom and it was sad to see how things are now and try to have 'caring' conversations. I love them both but its hard and I don't enjoy it.
Empty house*
Empty  chair
a ****** *plate  with some  burnt  *food
.
an empty bed

This place once there lived
A lonely old man
Who hid away
From  the world

The world didn't  care
And there lack of empathy left him bare.
On those cold winter nights *
He sat in front of a  smothered fire .
The fire lacked warmth like the villagers
This old man was hungry  and cold .
But most of all he *died
not knowing a soul
Because people lacked human kindness .
selfish*  inhuman beyond belief.
PoserPersona May 2018
'Twas a time I deemed thee love;
  the echoes lacked contraire
Sea moon shadows dance across
  this isle of despair

Entwined flesh eyes doth ne'er perceive,
  outside the mortal's scope
No sole charter giveth passage
  through salty waves unknown

'Tis what I think to see thee there
  on pedestals of gold
Forevermore you place thyself
  on stalwart shores alone

Unfurl thy sails for distant lands;
  the lighthouse shines once more
Praying to gods that long lost ship
  will find its way to port.
Still Crazy Aug 2014
no mean feat to reestablish,
palpitating those few seconds
when arms-in-motion wave frantic,
in desperation,
in fall-prevention mode,
comical and tragical,
a salty suite,
and the semi-familiar
taste of fall/failing
the freshest fear,
jalapeño hot on the tongue

some months ago,
the thinnest tightrope,
not an obstacle feared,
what I lacked for,
I could not say or now recall

the kindness of calm prevailed
now tension lines drawn,
under the feet,
around the neck,
high voltage wires that
no artist-survivor-breadwinner
can walk without trepidation
though you don't see my arms flailing,
there are faint marks on my soles,
parallelograms on my throat,
where fear has tested
the prowess of its equipment

my life retrospected,
have miracles
made and gained,
given and taken

nine lives used up so many times,
thought my allotment was
nine X nine to the power of nine,
stupid-stopped looking over my shoulder

the poems came so easy,
every phrase overheard was a
story explicated, and the insights slid
from throat to paper so fast
I did not count myself blessed,
just merely fortunate

well fortunes veer,
turn left bad right,
no direction home,
and what was easy,
now impossible

how the story final beds,
will keep you posted,
right now all I can predict
with 100% surety,
the fall is surely coming
for the summer-man

the sun cannot burn off
the fog that paralyzes his
ship to shore,
invisible the safety of port,
the horn sound more of a croak,
his voice, ashamed of failing,
has this man both
landlocked
and lost at sea
this poem was once centered
too
Andrew Rueter Jul 2017
Oh, what a horrible night
Definitely not late December back in '63
These are the Frankie valleys of my days

Night is always black
Night always comes back
Night envelopes us in the abyss
And makes us cherish light
Heightening our senses
To help us handle the unknown

When my days are filled with stimulation
The stillness of night sinks me
Into quicksand mixed by
The current of my mind
Overflowing into the sands of time
And reminds me
Of the stillness of my eyes locked on you
Or the stillness of my actions as you walk by
Or the stillness of my heart when you call me a ******

My frustration boiled
Night's black tar
So I bottled it up
Placed it in a syringe
And medicated my love with darkness

I worked my first job at the local Kroger's
People would leave with everything they wanted
And I'd push their empty carts back into the store
The artificial lights of the street lamps
Lacked warmth
Their hypnotic buzz highlighted
The stillness of night
Making me wonder if there was any way I could be happy
Similar to when activity would die down in rehab
A pitiful wretch left to his faculties
I'd stare out the window
Into the concrete chasm
And wonder if happiness could be found by someone like me

Night continues
Night confines
Day comes
And goes
Night returns
Night reburns
Night relearned
I really hate to see the day come to an end
It'd be alright if I was on the bay with a pen
But I live near sulfur vents
Inside a searing tent
Where the hellacious temperature rises rapidly
Despite the absence of the sun's warmth

The hellfire of night
Reminisces of those
I have thoroughly failed
And my overwhelming remorse
As I stare out my window
Into the bramble ravine
I wonder about the possibility of contentment
The stillness of night answers me
But at least now I can open the door
And charge into the night headstrong
To search frantically
For someone who
Erases my history
And writes my future
And makes me wonder if I could ever be happier
Edward Coles Feb 2017
The distant park
Was a graveyard of dead stars.
Each streetlight a system of worlds,
So many lives between each mote of light,
Indistinguishable in their unique love,
Bespoke hate, and the drama of the modern age.

Drunk laughter behind transparent
Double doors. Another hotel balcony,
Another cloud behind the canopy
Of marijuana eyes
To unsettle me from the crowd.

She points out, when you look closely
You can see the disorder
Amongst all constellations
Of life and love and litter;
Of discarded Coke cans
And temporary highs.

She says this is not a scene
To imbue the ****** of a present mind,
More to baulk at the incompletion
Of one thousand to-do lists;
A million reasons why
You should just stay inside.

She says you can see the human swell
Of ignorance, our city lights
Blotting out the stars
In a black ocean of broken politic
And irretrievable fault lines-
Divisions between us all.
Lives twisted with professional smiles
And eyes lit with stunning indifference.

Still, I have felt charity and warmth
On the doorstep of lunatics and fascists.
I have read the love of life
In faces of those who gave up.
I have recounted countless artists
Who saw beauty
In moments that precisely lacked it.

I have spent too many nights
In anaesthesia,
Fleeing each instance of feeling
And terror; all the tremors
That tell me I am still alive.

Continued to stare at the lights
Long after her voice
And the laughter inside had gone.

Heard waves in the traffic.
A world so large, so expansive,
It can never truly sleep.
Every broken heart,
Every war-torn land,
Every promotion,
Every one-night stand.

I wonder what would happen
If we all stood still.
If we all took one moment
To observe the motion
That unfolds beneath
Our static windowsill.

If we all took one moment
To recover our loss.
The wars that we won,
The feelings, forgot.
The hell we retain;
Our paradise, lost.
C
Allison Nov 2017
Unmoved by your arrival from the west coast,
ten thousand little things are different.

It’s October and the trees are on fire:
a forge that you won't notice, 'til you're gold.

Your Kicks don’t leave footprints on these cobbled streets;
even the children have old, leathery hands.

Try to paddle-board the Eno and the bass go belly-up:
that river’s for scattering ashes and making moonshine.

All they sell at Aldi is ethnic shampoo,
so now your hair twists like the roots you’ve lacked

'til now, because all you’ll ever need is two hands:
for prayer, and work.

Life moves on like a cigarette’s drag,
while somewhere Hope’s fiddle strums;

Take off your headphones and
go put your ear to an oak.
emilee haman Mar 2015
the way i see it i have two options.
option one is to continue to go through the motions.
continue to pretend, and hide behind the thin veil of dignity i feel i have left.
keep my acquaintances and the happiness that i have thoroughly convinced myself that i have,
but in reality be miserable.
option two: relapse
admitting defeat, and accepting the failure that was inevitable from the beginning
losing the things i had recently attained in the process of being clean:
friendship, happiness, and hope.
and circumstantially gain something i've lacked in the last eight months:
the fear of exposing my true emotion.
which is the lesser of two evils?
suppress the protruding ache in my chest leaving me emotionally distant, or show the world how i truly feel?
I think id choose the latter
I will forever be along side the company of nothing
Trying to find my way back to you was harder then it seemed
Drifting away from the straight path that we paved together
So now I'm stuck
Chained down to my own sick mistakes
Mistakes I would never take back
mistakes that I could of lacked
I will find the happiness you deserve so I can place it in your arms
It was yours and never mine to take
Be free
Sam Hawkins Oct 2015
What's your take on walking?

My body serves my soul
and tells me how to go.

My heart, affixed -- aims to show.
These ways I’ve walked in my shoes and stockings.

I've looked to heaven’s stars, to daylit clouds,
when I've stepped out, or dropped my gaze
to track the ground.

Yes, it is true—whoever passed me by
could have taken offense and supposed
I lacked my confidence.

And ofttimes, I've strode out straight and true
as if toward a far mist horizon.

Any un-manifested future,
even peek-a-boo,
can be comprehended? 

I should doubt it.

And if I wished to address an occasional
in-the-dumps, lost-at-sea feeling,

I'd shut my eyes, and walk backwards --
owl-like, 360 swivel my head.

Backwards blind circumspection seemed worth a try --
Who am I? I'd story where I’d been.

In my most spontaneous of nature foot-trafficking,
in roulette walk; my spin of gun chamber click--
ant, spider, beetle, and the occasional sighing snail
must have fled my shadow shoe?

As slow drift clouds in a sky game would play
with the sun to hide—creatures had sought me out,
sung their farewells?  (it was an excellent day to die)

Let me tell it, as it had happened today,
and truth says how.

My feet, they had gotten to waltz-walking.
O how my body and soul
danced a-fancy free.

Love was brimming out of me; happiness
whispered her wordless name; and
my tongue tripped nonsensical.

So if, at last, you've kept up a pace with me
in sympathetic striding, then perhaps
you'd surmise:

there never can be a flat-footed walking me, abiding,
especially when I spout off with poem-talking.

Now, what’s your take on walking?
jane taylor May 2016
walking through the woods i was surrounded by a plethora of golden bronze amber leaves tumbling in the wind sparkling with a star fire that evanesced from their jagged edges upon their descent.  i stood entranced, mesmerized, utterly hypnotized by their glorious magnificence.  i observed with intensity as a golden bronze amber leaf never having been attached to the majestic tree had no need to let go but gently released.  feeling no trepidation it wholly lacked desire for manipulation to control the forces of the wind.  i watched in awe and wonder realizing that it never disengaged from the tree knowing that separation is an illusion; it simply became the wind.  whirling it shimmered in the autumn sun as it wafted with no need for reins allowing its destination to unfold.  gingerly cascading it settled tenderly on the ground resting comfortably in ambivalence.  i sensed it did not cringe when it was picked up by an unsuspecting boot but intuitively knew immediately that it was being carried and dropped off serendipitously at an auspicious location.  i listened to it intently and drank in its essence as it simply lay in being not obsessing over what would happen consequent but sat in sheer stillness seemingly encompassing all totality.  i was stunned to see that it lingered without judgment in undivided clarity for what wild synchronicity would come.  it quenched its thirst in mystery while being completely at home in uncertainty.  the golden bronze amber leaf seemed one with all that is while simultaneously retaining awareness of self-perception.  as a gentle gust of wind coalesced with the beige fall sky it literally merged with the momentum enjoying the ride to its perfect destination.  with delicacy it rested cozily in ambiguity whispering to me that heaven is a state and not a place.  i vow surrender to black and white existence pledging fearlessly to climb higher creating life with vivid vibrancy adding golden bronze amber to my palette of colors with which i’ll paint.

©2016 janetaylor
TheRhymeRenegade Jul 2018
I guess it is a comfort
where I'm supposed to be
I always wanted a forever
and the pain it follows me
If I can't have it one way
I can always have another
And I can share with others
And be sure to pull them under

Making sure they're next to me
Whether physical or memory
I am not too good to beg
for accessory

As I live and breathe
I wear it all upon my sleeve
I put my insides on display
slice and cut and cleave
My very own defense
against my emptiness
I'm broken but I'm open
and full of tenderness

I just entertained a fantasy
and set that thing on repeat
My eyes started to water
at all the things you said to me
I fed you all your lines
and gave you cues and clues
only for it all to leave me lost and so confused
I rip out all the pages
from that day and back
so I don't have to focus
on everything I lacked

Making sure they're next to me
Whether physical or memory
I am not too good to beg
for accessory

As I live and breathe
I wear it all upon my sleeve
I put my insides on display
slice and cut and cleave
My very own defense
against my emptiness
I'm broken but I'm open
and full of tenderness

I hope you believe me but I have nothing to prove
I hope you are certain in your next move
I hope that I feel so good to you
I hope that I feel so good to you

Making sure they're next to me
Whether physical or memory
I am not too good to beg
for accessory

As I live and breathe
I wear it all upon my sleeve
I put my insides on display
slice and cut and cleave
My very own defense
against my emptiness
I'm broken but I'm open
and full of tenderness

I hope you believe me but I have nothing to prove
I hope you are certain in your next move
I hope that I feel so good to you
I hope that I feel so good to you
Do I feel good too?
Do I feel good too?
Do I feel good too?
Alana Cartwright Jan 2018
I remember you as a dark figure, looming over me.
My repetition of "no" and "stop" was eventually absorbed into the background noise, ignored- As if I was not present to you, only my body.
Something about the way you overpowered me, until I had nothing left,
You stripped away every remnant of my worth.

Lifeless, with a broken heart, was how you left me.
You touched down in the banks of my hollowed soul,
Like an earthquake, shattered me down to my core.
Everything I built myself upon crumbled, and I was 6 feet underneath the rubble.
That was the last of me, the beginning of my end.

I lacked strength to face this reality, hiding from it instead.
Consumed by destructive habits to fill an ever-growing hole in my heart, I lost myself in a spiraling dark hole.

At the bottom of that hole, I with nothing left, surrendered myself to the One capable of healing.
After a long road of war waged on my soul, peace replaced my hopelessness.
The reality I hid from by using destructive habits to fill an ever growing void, I now face with a full heart, lifted on wings of praise by the Lord's grace.
My loss of self value was redeemed by faith. The scars on my heart, now bandaged, serve as a testimony to the power of God's healing.

Where I was once a slave to my grief, I have been liberated. Where my soul was once lost, has been found.
Written in response to a recent trigger of suppressed memories. Before publishing, I revisited this piece several times contemplating why I was writing it. Two years ago I was introduced to *** by ****, and it stripped me of everything. I've learned, sometimes some weeds have deeper roots than you expect, and occasionally they will sprout up in times you least expect. By the grace of God I have grown to be stronger because of it, but only because I rely on His strength above my own.
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